Chapter 37
Jo
Luc, aka Cookie, slipped inside after the last customer left. “You doing okay here? Need anything?”
He was the nicest guy. I didn’t know him as well as I did Bruce and Tristan because he hadn’t joined the local Saint Security staff until much later, but he fit right in with the crew—gorgeous, kind, and apparently quite capable. He seemed like he probably fell between Kenny and Adam age-wise.
“I’m good, thanks. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll lock up after you, and I think Jess is going to be here soon to talk.” I widened my eyes.
He nodded knowingly. He’d been briefed on the situation—my secret identity, the stalker, and also that Jess didn’t know, but I didn’t want her finding out from anyone but me.
“When’s she coming? I’ll just wait until she gets here,” he said, checking his watch.
“Oh, any minute.”
He gave me another polite nod and slipped out. Since he’d decided not to go until Jess came, I didn’t lock the door behind me. I hoisted up a box of books to carry into the reading room, and nerves fluttered in my belly. I’d never done a signing before, and of course having my friends know I was Josie Wade—finally!—made it all the more intense and exciting.
A soft metallic click drew my attention, and I looked up to see a person with a hat standing just inside the back room’s doorway, a hatch from the ceiling gaping open just behind him. What? There used to be an attic that connected into the closet of my apartment before it was renovated, but as far as I knew, it’d been sealed up for years.
“Josie Wade.”
The man breathed out the name and everything in me reacted at once. Instinct or reflex or whatever it was had me throwing a book in his direction and bolting for the shop, but he beat me there, handgun pointed right at me.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you run out there or if you start screaming, I will.”
Fear scampered throughout my veins, chasing after the adrenaline already rushing, and I threw my hands up. “Please, don’t shoot.”
Should I scream? Should I run? I could probably bowl him over, but would he end up actually shooting me?
“We’re going out back. Move.”
Everything I’d ever learned about hostages and kidnapping said you don’t leave the first location. You never leave. I can’t leave.
“Why don’t we stay here? I can sign some books for you and?—”
“We’re going now or we’re dying here together. You choose.”
In all my mental wanderings about this man, I’d never imagined him to be murderous. Creepy and overstepping and violating, yes, but I hadn’t imagined him wanting me dead. What arrogance and foolishness had convinced me that somehow he actually cared about me and therefore wouldn’t want to truly hurt me?
Idiocy. And maybe a heroic helping of delusion for good measure and my temporary sanity’s sake.
“Okay. Sure. We’ll go.” I dropped a hand to my back pocket and, if possible, my heart sank further. No phone. I’d left it on the counter in the other room. I’d grown so hellaciously complacent, and I would never forgive myself for this.
“Move. Now.”
I walked, and when the muzzle of his gun pressed into my back, I gasped and jerked forward. In a movie version of this moment, maybe I would’ve busted out some sweet self-defense moves. I had taken the beginner’s class with Saint Security. But the fear and shock of reality blurred everything out, as did the feel of metal pressed against my spine. No amateurish move would keep me from dying if he decided to pull the trigger.
“Stop there!”
His voice rose, and for the first time, I heard nerves or maybe hysteria. Something unhinged, which made my mind scramble around for purchase.
A sticky shred of a sound came, and he grabbed my hands, then duct-taped my wrists together behind me. I was frozen with inaction, almost inert with the terror that this person had found me and he’d come prepared.
When he slapped a strip of duct tape over my mouth, I started crying.
“Shut up,” he said, grabbing my arm and steering me toward the back door. Outside this building was only a little courtyard, but there were walkways in several directions. If he’d parked out front, someone would see. Someone would see this guy marching me out to his car.
But he went to the left and down the alley the opposite way I hoped, not to Silver Street. There was still good reason to hope someone would?—
He shuffled forward and opened a car door. He’d parked right next to the alley’s opening, and it was a slow Tuesday early evening. I stumbled as I entered the small sedan and cried out when he shoved my head hard enough and ordered, “Get down,” then gently shut the door behind me.
The clock on the dash of the car said six minutes after five. I’d try to keep track, and maybe that would help me know where we were going. He got in and didn’t speak a word to me, only began driving. I ran through every possible horrifying scenario my mind could think of before I willed myself to focus.
Someone would know I was missing very soon. They couldn’t track me with my cell phone, but seeing it there at the store meant they’d know for sure something was wrong. And they were the best in the world at this, so in theory it wouldn’t take them long.
Except this guy had come prepared and he’d planned this. This timing was too perfect—right when I was alone in the store—my dad had left to get dinner and Jess hadn’t arrived. Before the busyness of dinner and—when did he get into my apartment? He couldn’t have been there when I was—the space was too small. I would’ve known… wouldn’t I?
A thrill of horror at the idea that he’d been there when I was home watering my little house plant earlier sent a shiver through me.
My thoughts scattered as he slowed and eased into a garage, then parked. The rumble of the garage door shutting came before he ever opened the door, though thankfully he did turn off the car.
Once the door closed fully, he exited the car and got me out, then forced me up a few stairs and into a home. Curtains were drawn and my eyes struggled to adjust to the low light after being in the brightness of the summer early evening.
“Let’s get you settled on the couch.” He said this as though we were having a nice conversation and he wasn’t gripping my arm a little too hard and shoving me forward. “Have a seat.”
I sat and my stomach lurched at the feel of the plastic cover on the cushions. That was due to his desire to preserve the precious materials of his couch and not for any other reasons, right?
Maybe he lived here with someone—a grandparent?
Looking around, it seemed empty save a few pieces of furniture. There was no way he actually lived here.
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’ll just tell you now, there’s no one here to bother us. This place hasn’t sold, but the old lady who used to live here is at the retirement home. No one even knows we’re here. It’s just us.”
He moved around with his back to me and my ears strained to make sense of the sounds—maybe his keys resting on the counter? He took his hat off and brushed back some of the hair that’d escaped from his ponytail, then flipped on a light overhead and sat across from me on the coffee table.
“I’m going to take this off now.” His fingers brushed over my cheek before he peeled back the edge of the tape and then slowly removed it. His eyes got a dazed quality as he focused on my mouth. “You’re so beautiful. I wanna do all the things you write about in your books.”
“Like… rescue people from kidnapping?” I asked, because at this point, anger was starting to outpace fear.
“No. I’m gonna give you time to fall for me like Holden and Shailey in book two. And since I haven’t gotten to read the newest book yet, maybe something from that one.” He reached behind me and I ducked out of the way, but he grabbed my ponytail and ran his hands through my hair. “Then maybe you can write us an open-door scene and we’ll act that out, huh?”
Tears hit my eyes. “Where is this coming from? Why would you think this is okay?”
“We’re in love, Josie. I’ve seen your messages to me since the very first book.” His expression was so full of assurance and love it was honestly stunning.
“What?”
“Your author’s note. You always have something in there for me. I always find it.” He grinned.
“I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. How could I possibly be leaving you a message?” Not that I was completely surprised, but he really was unhinged. He’d fabricated a relationship where there was none. He didn’t look familiar to me at all, and since I’d never done book signings or even sent out signed copies, there was no way we’d met and I’d forgotten.
He stood and walked away, but kept talking. “Oh, but you do. It’s always something for L. ‘I miss you so much, L, and I’m so proud of you,’ or, ‘To L, you mean so much to me and inspire me every day.”
I nearly screamed. I very nearly lost my mind with frustration. Because those had been notes to my sister, to Lizzy, who would never read the books but I’d still wanted to acknowledge her. But did I really want to give this sicko any more information about my life, or upset him?
My best bet was to play along as long as I could stomach it—maybe not agree we were destined to be together or whatever nonsense he’d spun for himself, but keep him talking and happy until Adam could find me.
Adam would find me. Or Jess would. Or Wilder. They’d come for me like they’d found Winnie, because they weren’t fictional.
They wouldn’t stop until they found me, so it was just a matter of time.